


Spectrum

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dubious Consent, Light BDSM, M/M, Masturbation, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Prostitution, Recreational Drug Use, Rough Sex, Sex Addiction, Sexual Slavery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-23
Updated: 2013-07-24
Packaged: 2017-12-21 02:01:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/894492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s a case that should have been closed years ago; a case left unsatisfied. The kidnapped children were never found, the person responsible ceased the abductions and the case went cold, which is why Dean is so surprised when the file suddenly becomes his responsibility. (Detective!AU)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warning(s): Sexual Slavery, Prostitution, Mentions of Non-Con and dub-con, and I tried to research the FBI as much as possible, but I admit that my representation of them and their MO may not be 100% accurate, so please forgive me and feel free to contact me about any errors. In summation, I took some liberties with FBI protocol. I'm sorry, researching how they carry classified information was really difficult.

The case is twenty years old when it gets to Dean’s desk.

It’s a case that should have been closed years ago. The kidnapped children were never found, the person responsible ceased the abductions and the case went cold. Though heavily publicized with a minimum of twelve related kidnappings cross country, there was never a solution and while the families were stuck with the tragedy of losing a relative, the public seemed to forget. Posters dropped from the telephone poles, web pages lost weekly visitors, and the media found more interesting errors of human civilization to focus on.

Quite frankly, Dean is shocked that the file becomes his responsibility. 

“Listen, boy. Before you yell at me, know I tried to get you outta this case. This wasn’t my idea.” Bobby says as he approaches Dean’s desk with the folder in his hand. He hesitates before laying it down and returning to his desk. “Bosses orders.”

Dean shakes his head. “Now what is this?”

Bobby nervously grabs a cup from in front of him. “If it makes you feel better, the whole office is in on it.”

Dean rolls his eyes and angrily swipes at the folder, opening it in front of him. Seeing the contents is like hearing fireworks right behind you on a day that nobody is celebrating.

This case that had been forgotten, that people stopped trying to solve, and that everybody settled on not knowing the answer to is suddenly in his hands, and it’s a priority. Dean hisses before he can stop himself and manages to grab the attention of the entire office.

“What is it?” Sam asks while slowly approaching his desk. He’s in the middle of reading through a report, himself, but he stops to humor Dean’s reaction to the file.

“Milton.” Dean responds, looking up from the papers with a frown on his face. “They’re reopening the case.”

“I‘ll be damned.“ Sam starts. “That would explain-”

“-why Kevin and Benny are downstairs at the coffee machine waiting to make a grand entrance? Yeah.” Dean huffs, closing the file and tossing it on his desk. “And here I was thinking of catching a break. Looks like the last two months of solving crime aint payin’ off.”

“Gear up, boys, looks like we’re workin’ overtime.” Bobby says.

Dean isn't particularly pleased about the case. At least, not in the conventional way. Having the case reopened and stamped urgent means that there’s a fresh trail and that’s got to count for something. The information is private and the public won’t know anything about the case until it’s solved, but Dean is on the ass end of a white collar crime he busted his nuts to solve and he’s a wrench being tossed right back into the works if he ever knew one.

Sam seems to get it.

The world of organized crime is dark and gritty, and swiping the rug out from under some money hungry thug is easier then dealing with dead children and opiates. Dean doesn't get a choice, not in a case like this and the ride is about to rough.

“Let’s get to work.” Sam suggests, patting Dean on the shoulder twice more before heading back to his desk.

\- - -

The day is rolling slowly. Since Dean inherited a copy of the Milton case, he’s been stressed. There’s an immediate meeting because this case is a group effort. Kevin has been transferred from technology for the time being. Benny has been sent over to take care of the language barriers between the suspects and the FBI, and Lisa is the law, covering the basics of going undercover and protecting the constitution.

“Alright, so here’s what we got,” Dean starts, flipping to the first page of his memo. He’s surrounded on all sides by chairs with people in them, some getting over the brunt of a ten hour day with a cup of coffee in their hands.

“In light of recent information, we’re goin’ undercover. Two weeks ago from this day, an informant notified the Raleigh PD of suspicious activity in what is cloaked as an underground nightclub. This building is a ring for prostitutes; the performers are paid like strippers and then rented out for the remainder of the night. I need not tell you the illegalities in that. Though this case would have been left to the locals, we’ve also been notified that many of the young men and women being prostituted bear a striking resemblance to the missing children of the prior Milton case, from eye color to hair color. The amount of performers at the club directly corresponds to the amount of kidnappings tied to this case.”

Sam is biting his pen and swinging back in his chair and Lisa is nodding her head. 

“So we got a twenty year old series of kidnappings that’s lookin’ an awful lot like sexual slavery.” Jo says from the back of the room. She’s standing against the wall, having passed on a chair because apparently leaning against the wall for an hour straight with your hands in your pockets is more comfortable. “Well, it’s better then most of us could have hoped for.”

“And if this case is going in the direction we’re thinkin‘, it aint gonna be easy.” Bobby says.

Kevin rubs roughly on the handle of his chair. “North Carolina.” He says. “Other side of the country. This is gonna be rough.”

The other occupants of the room, who seem to have forgotten about that, sigh in unison. Dean holds up his hands in light placation. 

“I’m almost finished, bear with me. We got very little information from the inside. All we know is what our informant told us. The place is heavily guarded. This person has visited the club a few times, always picks the same dancers. He says the quality of the club is top-notch, you can do what you want within reason, but before you can even enter you’re getting tested for STD’s and background checked. Any priors, you’re out. They’ve got you down to your blood type. The owner, man known as “Crowley”, gets to keep your ID until you leave and you’d better believe that by the time you check out, he knows all about you, your family, your job. When you enter the club you make a deal, sign on the dotted line, if you make his performers uncomfortable and they let him know about it, your balls are gone.

“His performers are kept healthy enough. A good size, not underweight, very fleshed out, and the rooms are as high quality as the rest of the club, silk bedding, king sized, nice curtains, wall décor. Nothing to cause suspicion. The only reason we’ve been notified is that our informant has got a moral code and happened to see a program rerunning unsolved cases from the last decade. He instantly recognized three of the little kids on the program as being the performers he checks out the most.

“This case is important.” Dean concludes as he looks down at his watch. “While I hate to keep you all past your bedtime, we got some Intel to gather and some young adults to save. Raleigh’s got suspects that they can’t touch because we gotta get in, so we’re set to get whatever information we can without making waves before tomorrow. Familiarize yourselves with the victim profiles. Lisa and Sam, you’re with me. I’m going to need you to know the victims from the names down to the clothes they were last seen wearing. Everyone else, get in good with the area, check out Crowley, his family, find out what you can and stay low. We go that extra mile after we're in 'cause the last thing we need is for them to see us coming. Grab what‘s on the surface and work with it.”

Sam grinds his teeth in apprehension. “Somehow I knew I was going.” He says, shaking his head.

Lisa, who is within reach of him, rubs his forearm soothingly.

Dean smiles to the room at large and waves his arms. “I’m just laying it out. Those not under my charge have got your list of orders from your superiors, I’m sure. You know what to do. Get to it.” 

The room disbands loudly. Sam rubs his eyes and rolls back to his desk on his chair. Lisa stands to go back to her office, and Benny follows suit.

Dean is already exhausted. He’s been careful to keep away from the caffeine. As tempting as it is, he always gets anxiety when he’s crashing and he needs his full range of capabilities on this case if he wants it done accurately and efficiently.

He heads back to his desk to contemplate the dangers of sneaking into a sexual slavery ring (if that‘s what this turns out to be. The odds are in his favor). His chair leans back with his weight as he turns to face the window and watch the rain that’s been falling for six days straight. 

These children that were kidnapped years ago, all between the ages of three and ten, are bound to be adults by this point. Having been held in captivity for their entire adolescence is difficult to comprehend. How is it possible that Dean and his team prepare adequately for the mental state of captives who know nothing outside of what they’ve been living for twenty years? Dean watches the rain run down the glass of the window as he thinks about the kids he used to see on the television screen.

The Miltons. The name is familiar across the country. The first three of thirteen children Kidnapped were Milton children, all adopted at birth and stolen years later. The oldest of the three, Gabriel, was ten at the time of the kidnapping. Anna was six and Castiel was three. Dean can remember the kidnappings clearly. The perpetrator began in Vermont. He traveled south, picking up children along the way. How he managed to settle down in North Carolina, if the tales ring true, is a mystery.

Through years of kidnappings, the public couldn’t find anything. They couldn’t touch anyone for the crime and they weren’t lucky enough to run into conclusive evidence that would put anyone behind bars. Perhaps what was worse was that the children were never found. They were assumed dead by so many that those outside of working the case held vigils and small funeral-like arrangements for the families. Burying empty caskets, going through spells of hysterics as a community because who knew when your kid was getting snatched, and what were the odds that they were coming back if it happened? 

Nothing ties the children together. Why they were kidnapped, nobody knows. The only reason the police know that the kidnappings are tied is because of a telling decorated, white card left at every crime scene.

“You look zoned, man. You getting nervous already?”

Dean looks away from the window to face Kevin who is sitting a few desks away. 

“I’d like to say I’ve been through worse but only time can tell if that’s true.” He shrugs. “The more work we do, the more prepared we’ll be if shit hits the fan.”

Kevin fist pumps and looks back at his computer screen. “I got you covered, man, don’t sweat. Everything’s gonna be just fine. Not to mention, I just got the… heads up that Charlie is on her way.”

“Bradbury?”

“Bradbury. And I’m stuck with her.” Kevin waves his arms in dismissal. “It's not a problem, but that my god, that girl. Listen, I’m just letting you know that you’re in good hands and we’re gonna take care of you, so you should pack and get some sleep tonight.”

“I’ll give it a few more hours.” Dean nods his appreciation before turning his attention to his desk. Papers are scattered all over the place, the only thing uncovered being the keyboard of his computer. Dean’s eyes quickly trail along the papers until he finds the sheets with the names of the victims on them. The information is clear as day; name, date of birth, last seen, and then physical specifics.

Dean reads over the thirteen names. Gabriel Milton, Anna Milton, Castiel Milton, Uriel Brennan, Samandriel Benodelia, Balthazar Moreau, Meg Masters, Ruby Macauliffe, Michael Milligan, Raphael Phimeras, Inias Ackman, Lilith Roderick, and Hester Sigsmund. 

All children gone for twenty years. All children with families sitting at home, unaware that there’s a crack in the plaster of this case daring to bust it wide open. 

\- - - 

Dean doesn’t leave his office until an hour in the morning he forgot existed. 

He‘s in the parking garage when Sam yells, “Get some rest, Dean!” The place echoes with the call and Dean winces.

“I got it.” He responds tightly, head pounding from the lack of actual oxygen in the atmosphere. It’s still raining heavily outside, and the humidity is traveling into the parts of the world covered from the downpour.

Dean spends the entire drive home contemplating if starting the drive today and breaking the speed limit will get him to North Carolina by this evening so that he doesn’t have to take a plane. As unrealistic as it sounds, even to himself, the prospect is promising. No airplane. No early death.

Sam knows Dean's fear of airplanes and is always careful to not mention it until the airport, and even then it’s if (and only if) Dean brings it up first. Dean is glad that Sam is going to North Carolina with him. 

By the time Dean returns home he’s wound himself up to the point that he isn’t tired. He’s wide awake and regretting having joined the FBI because he is going to die on that plane and he’s thinking about it ahead of time. How is he going to apologize to his family? How is he going to apologize to Sam for leading him down this path when they were children. Why the FBI?

“Oh my god,” Dean whispers to himself, car parked in his driveway and the engine cut. “I gotta get out of this car.” He reaches into the passenger seat and grabs his briefcase before pushing the car door open. Stepping into the cold rain is a jumpstart to Dean’s system and temporarily pulls him out of his anxiety. He runs to his front door with his arm raised over his head to shield as much of himself from the rain as he can. Unfortunately, he still gets soaked, but it gives him an excuse to take a long, hot shower.

He drops his briefcase onto his couch as he passes through the living room to his stairs which creak with familiarity as he goes up them in search of the hot water that’s going to relax his muscles.

The shower is everything he expects. The long nap he takes afterwards while he’s air drying is more of a surprise. By the time he wakes up to start packing his things, the sun is kissing the horizon and the room is half illuminated by the beginnings of another day. 

Dean wants to roll over and go back to sleep, but he’s got papers and clothes to pack. It’s times like these that Dean wishes there was a woman in his life. One that would welcome him home, tell him to go back to sleep while she helped him get his shit together. Unfortunately, previous relationships had hit a speed bump and spiraled out of control, leaving Dean in the unfortunate position of rolling over off of an otherwise empty bed in search of his luggage.

He scoots around his house, first locating his suitcases and dragging them to his bedroom, and then he goes in search of his briefcase so that he can go through the files and organize them. Dean isn’t overtly anal about organization, but working for the FBI has certainly remodeled his idea of ‘orderly’.

After filing through the papers and wiping down his dusty suitcases, Dean begins to pack. It’s simple enough. He moves quickly between the closet, the dresser and the bed, dropping various clothing items inside. He has to remind himself twice to pack lightly, putting aside a few plaid shirts and the extra pair of jeans he’s managed to convince himself he’ll need. He settles for a pair of dress pants, two pairs of jeans, two packs of new underwear (because five million pairs of underwear on any trip still won‘t be enough), a pack of socks, and countless shirts. He packs a pair of boots for strenuous activity (like busting a prostitution ring) and a pair of dress shoes for every other occasion. He also packs a leather jacket despite rumors about the weather in North Carolina.

Four hours have passed before Dean is even remotely prepared to leave. He gets two calls from Sam and Lisa reminding him of things that he would have otherwise forgotten about. Sam reminds Dean to take his pills before leaving, the last thing he needs is to get on a plane and have every anxiety he’s ever faced thrown at him for the entirety time he‘s in the air. Lisa reminds him to grab his ID, (“no, Dean, the other ID”) because that thing is like the food in the back of the fridge you forget you have until you smell the decay.

The rain and humidity of a new day are in full swing by the time Dean gets a phone call from Sam telling him to be ready within an hour that's much needed. Dean rushes to get his papers together, working them into the confines of his briefcase before snapping it shut and taking it downstairs. He runs between floors as he transports his luggage to the front door. It's not until he runs up the stairs for the third time that Dean actually accepts how heavy the rest of the day is going to be. Regardless, he limits his reaction to a sigh and grabs his last suitcase from his mattress. He turns the light off on the way out and heads down the stairs to wait for Sam.

"Alright," Dean tells himself, looking over his luggage. "It's go time."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean adopts his new identification and sets to work on becoming a trusted regular at the nightclub.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, there are some liberties taken with this chapter. The only idea I have of going undercover is taken from procedural dramas. Yikes! I'm just shrugging it off and playing by my own rules because something is bound to be wrong, so consider it an AU - AU and we can settle for the fact that this is not, in fact, how the FBI keeps it low key. Maybe some things are right. I tried. Heehee. Also, the chapter got a little bit long for me. It reached 17 pages before I decided to cut it short. I didn't want it to go too long. I'll read over it and tweak it if anything is wrong, but if you spot something, let me know.

Dean can’t recall a time he wasn't afraid of flying.

To a lot of the world, the concept of an airplane is nice. It’s progress. It’s an ode to the human ability and it’s beautiful, praised, a standard of innovation. To Dean, it’s a large hunk of metal flanked on both sides by two pieces of aluminum, somehow staying airborne with five trillion pounds of weight saying it should be doing otherwise and the only safety precaution the plane can possibly have is a seat belt that won’t do anything if it crashes. The concept of flying, to Dean, is certain death. It’s suicide. It’s taking a risk in the air, out of control, when you could be driving and in control.

Boarding the plane isn't so bad. It’s when he sits down that he starts to panic. The aisles are small, the people are crowding and Dean has got to get off of this plane.

“It’s alright. Calm down.” Sam says, stepping in front of him to push his carry-on into the designated space above their seats. “You’re gonna be fine.” He closes the compartment and slides into his seat, effectively trapping dean between himself and Lisa. “We've been on planes before, remember? You have to give the medicine time to kick in. You’ll be asleep for the ride. Until then, try not to think about it.”

Dean isn't listening. He’s watching Lisa flip through pages in a magazine she’s found in the seat holder. When she flips the page and catches Dean looking, she offers him a sympathetic smile and reaches out to take his hand. “C’mon Dean. We can do this. It’s not gonna be as bad as last time.”

Because last time the weather had caused turbulence so bad Dean’s drink hit the ceiling of the airplane. “Oh my God, I’ve gotta get off this plane.”

She puts down her magazine and turns to face him, leg propped up on the arm rest as far as it will go. “Dean, I’m right here. Sam is right next to you. You don’t need to get off of this plane, you hear me? This ride is going to be smooth. Clear skies-”

“It’s raining.” Dean hisses, looking over her shoulder to emphasize his point.

“Yes, but it’s a soft rain. There isn’t much wind, and we’re going above the clouds. We’re only going to be getting rained on for a minute.”

Sam places his hand on Dean’s shoulder. “Give it ten minutes, Dean. You’ll be asleep. If you don’t calm down you’re gonna freak yourself out. Don’t think about being on a plane, think about being in a big car.”

“That is the worst idea I‘ve ever heard.” Dean responds.

Sam laughs and shrugs. “It’s worth a try.”

Dean whimpers dejectedly and leans back in his seat. He closes his eyes and squeezes them before laying his head back against the seat and waiting for the medicine to kick in. Fortunately, ten minutes pass and Dean doesn’t even notice that they’re taking off. The rest of the flight is spent in a quiet sleep.

\- - - 

“You know, they say the full moon brings out all the crazy people.”

Dean jolts awake. Well, imagines he jolts awake because last he checked he was on a plane, not in a forest. A young girl crouches in front of him and reaches out to wipe something off of Dean’s forehead. When she retracts her hand, it’s covered in blood. “You hit your head really hard. You’d better come back to my home so my mom can patch you up.” She says. She reaches out to take his hand but Dean waves her off.

“Sorry, kid. I’m way too heavy for you to lift up.” He says. He leans on his arm and winces. It’s sprained.

“I can help you. Come on!” The girl insists. She reaches out her hand again and Dean takes it on the side of his good arm. The girl is surprisingly strong. Dean goes up easily.

The girl laughs at the look of surprise on his face. Her little black curls bounce on her head with the force of her convulsions, but she doesn’t say anything other then, “Told you so” before she’s turning around and walking away from him.

“Hey! Wait up! Who are you?” Dean asks.

“My name is Maggie.” She responds.

“Alright. Maggie. Next question. Where am I?”

“You’re somewhere between Brazoria and Sweeny.”

“Texas?” Dean asks.

“Texas.” Maggie confirms. “I reckon you’re lucky I decided to be bad tonight. That’s how I found you! I lost my doll earlier and I wanted to come and get it. I left it in the woods when I was playing with my friend and when I came to get it I found your body layin’ where I last saw her! With all do respect, I think you may be my doll.”

Dean scoffs. “I’m not your doll.”

“We’ll see. My mom said the moon has lotsa magic, so I think maybe you were transformed or something.” Maggie says.

When Maggie begins to walk again, Dean follows her. It’s been a long time since he’s been in Texas. In fact, Dean hasn’t seen his hometown since he was 13 and the fact that he’s here now without pretense is unsettling.

“Listen, Maggie. I’d appreciate it if you’d just walk me to a clearing. I can get to a hospital. My head is killing me and, I’m not gonna lie, I have no idea what I’m doing here right now.”

Maggie stops walking and looks over her shoulder at Dean. “I told you you’re crazy. Even if you weren’t before, as soon as the full moon comes out so do the werewolves and vampires and blob monsters and sometimes the dead. Mom told me that. But if you can‘t remember how you got here, that lets me know you must be my doll and you transformed. ” She thinks for a second before adding, “or something” quietly.

Dean stops. “Alright, none of that. No - no ghost stories, and you can keep all of the old wives tales to yourself. Let’s get to the clearing.”

Maggie shrugs and continues onwards.

The clearing is a few miles out. When they reach the open air Dean sighs in relief. The moon is high overhead against the backdrop of the dark blue sky. It must be late. Dean looks up to admire the view and says, “Haven’t seen this since a long time ago.”

Maggie hums in acknowledgement. As if Dean remembers the peculiarity of the situation, he looks back down to Maggie and says, “Uh, it’s actually really late. What the hell are you doing out here? Isn’t your mom gonna worry?”

“I told you I’m looking for my doll.” Maggie says sternly.

“Yeah, but you look like you’re about ten years old. There’s a time for kids to be out in the woods and night time aint it.” Crouching down so that he’s eye level with her for the first time since he was being pulled up, Dean notices something on her face. It’s a small cut underneath her eye. He keeps his mouth closed about it. He’s the one bleeding from the head, after all.

“Well, you’re at the clearing, crazy man.” Maggie says. “I’m glad I could help but I’ve gotta get home. If my mom wakes up and sees I’m missing again, she’ll lose her head.”

Dean nods and straightens up. “It’s too dangerous to just be runnin’ around out here. Go home and stay home.”

Maggie stares at Dean for a moment before smiling and turning around. She runs across the clearing and back under the cover of the trees rather quickly. Dean isn’t particularly familiar with these woods, but he’s got enough survival skill to find the road from here. Dean can smell the water and knows that he’s close to a creek. All he’s got to do is follow it downstream and find the river. The river will get him trails which will get him to somebody who will have a phone. Hopefully.

As if remembering to check for it, Dean pats his back pocket. Naturally his phone is absent. He’d expected as much but can’t manage to stave off the slight disappointment anyway.

Dean looks back up at the sky. The night is clear enough. In a way (if he weren’t experiencing amnesia or an alternate reality) he’d lay down in the grass and appreciate it for what it’s worth. The chill is starting to set in and Dean decides to go back under the cover of the trees to cover himself from the fog that’s falling over him.

“This is fuckin’ weird.” Dean says to himself. Nobody else is around to hear it. He wraps his arms around himself, mindful of his gimp arm. He becomes hyper aware of the sound of blood dripping steadily to his shirt from his head. It’s too quiet. No crickets, no birds, no wind.

Dean makes his way for the trees. He moves quickly through the long grass and kicks clumps of loose dirt and grass out of the grooves of his shoe as he goes. Yards from the clearing, Dean’s eye catches the figure of a person standing between two trees he’s heading in the direction of. He stops mid-step and lowers his foot quietly, suddenly terrified of the fact that he’s out here. Alone. Without knowing how or why.

“Dean,” The figure calls. It’s a voice he knows but can’t place.

“Hello?” Dean calls back. Slowly he takes a step, approaching the figure in the distance. The figure is male, lean, tall. 

“Don’t come any closer, Dean. Dean, Dean, Dean,” The voice is soft but it travels across the settling mist and makes Dean’s hair stand on end. It rocks him back and forth until it makes him lose his footing. His head starts pounding and he drops to his knees, his arm is on fire and did he break it and not notice this entire time or is something else going on here? Dean holds his head with his good arm and lets the other hang loosely at his side as the voice continues to shake him.

“Dean! Dean, get up. Come on,” Dean drops to the ground and gasps as the pain in his arm crescendos. He squeezes his eyes closed and when he opens them it’s to the comforting sight of Sam’s eyebrow.

Yelling and throwing his arms out in front of him, Dean screams, “What the hell?”

“We’re landing.” Sam laughs. “You were really knocked out, mumbling to yourself. Did you know you sleep talk?”

Dean adjusts himself in his seat nervously. “Y-yeah? What did I say?”

“I couldn’t decipher it.” Sam shrugs. “I asked for Lisa’s help with translation but she told me to leave you alone before I heard something I wasn’t ready for.”

Dean clears his throat. “Right. Uh… so how long was the flight?”

“Only about an hour. I told you, nothing to worry about. You only needed to take a catnap.” 

Dean nods and rubs the exhaust from his eyes. They still feel heavy and, honestly, Dean could lay back down and go to sleep until the plane stops moving if he wanted to.

“You know those pills aren’t made for such short rides.” Lisa explains. “I know you’re feeling heavy. I used to take those same pills when I was going through a bad bout of insomnia. They keep you asleep for longer then you mean to be asleep, though they help with the anxiety. You can’t have it if you’re unconscious. You’re gonna be feeling it for the rest of the day.” 

Dean groans. “Small price to pay.”

Lisa hums in acknowledgment.

\- - -

Sam, Dean and Lisa depend on each other to travel inconspicuously throughout the airport. Dean has been checking his phone for pickup time and location. Lisa and Sam have gotten the notification that they’re to leave in a separate car. The three go their separate ways at baggage claim and Dean is left to navigate the airport by himself. 

It takes half an hour to get to the pickup location, and when he gets there he focuses on the license plates, careful to look unobtrusive as he finds his car. In the end, he doesn’t have to find the license plate. Another undercover waves to him and yells “Jake!”

Dean follows the voice and his jaw drops. He almost leaves his two suitcases and carry on bags at his feet as he runs towards the man he hasn’t seen since school years ago. Dean’s reaction to the man isn’t forced. It’s completely genuine. Good on the organization for remembering how much he’s loved and missed this little bastard. His lips mouth the name ‘Garth’ but he’s not stupid enough to say it out loud and blow cover. 

“Yeah, man, it’s been years.” Garth grunts as Dean drops everything to pull him into the second tightest hug he’s ever delivered. “We can talk on the drive. Gimme that bag.” Garth nudges Dean backwards and grabs at the straps of his two shoulder bags. “Suitcases in the back, these bags are goin’ in the trunk.”

“Sure. Your car, your rules.” Dean shrugs. He’s still smiling as he drags his suitcases to the back of Garth’s “old rickety” car. He throws the door open and shoves them in the back before joining Garth in the front. 

As soon as the doors are closed, Garth looks over at Dean and puts his fingers to his lips. He pulls a device out of his pocket and hits a button. The device whirrs briefly for a moment before slowing and silencing. Dean waits for it and when Garth gives his large goofy smile and shuts it back off he knows they‘re clear. Garth turns to face Dean and opens his arms. “Hug me, brother.” He yells and Dean does it again because it’s been so long since he’s seen him that he doesn’t know what else to do.

“I can’t believe they sent you out here!” Dean yells, settling back into his seat when somebody behind them beeps. “Jesus, Garth. First things first. Jake?”

“Yeah, Jake Pawlak. It’s polish! You look kind of polish.”

“Really.” Dean says.

“No, not really. But you can’t tell what anybody is anymore. Everyone’s all mixed up. I’m Lewis-”

“You do not look like a Lewis.”

“I know. I told Rufus that an’ he told me that I looked like several things but he wasn’t gonna say any of ‘em incase he hurt my feelings.”

Dean guffaws, hand covering his mouth to try and hide it. “God, I’ve missed you guys.”

“We missed you, too, buddy. How’s Sam?”

Dean looks over at Garth and grins. “You’ll be seeing him real soon.”

“Yeah?” Garth nods his head happily. “I’ve missed that big guy.”

Dean doesn’t know what’s funnier, the way Garth still refers to Sam as a “big guy” or the gestures that accompany him saying it in that nerdy voice of his. Garth is nodding his head, thinking to himself and Dean just grins at it.

Garth quickly briefs Dean on his new cover. Dean gets his stats - papers he has to memorize, facts about an imaginary person he has to become intimate with. The operation is two days away, Garth is in on it but he won’t be breeching the club. He’s Dean’s best friend and free hotel during the trip. Sam isn’t related to or familiar with Dean. He also won’t be going into the club until a week after Dean goes in.

“What’s the estimated length of the operation?”

“We’re trying to keep it to less then two months. We need you to get in and close with those dancers and we’ve gotta keep you out of Crowley’s eye. We’ve given you the most inconspicuous profile.” Garth looks over his shoulder for traffic before changing lanes.

“You know you have a rearview for that?” Dean says.

“Oh, yeah. I know. Hurts my neck to look in it though.”

Dean’s eyes widen. Garth looks over at him and smiles before continuing, “You’re sexy free and single and you’re ready to get back out there. I’m just here to pat you on the back while you do it.”

“And what does your house look like?” Dean laughs.

“Man, I’m not complaining. No rent and it’s in a suburb far enough away that Crowley doesn’t regularly visit. We’ve been keeping’ an eye on him for a month or two now.”

“I wasn‘t informed until yesterday.”

“Yeah, but you were working another case. Rufus said we could wait and get some intel. Make your profile.” Garth stops and smiles widely, facing Dean and saying, “I made your likes and dislikes list. Beyonce is definitely on there.”

“Garth,”

“Lewis.”

“If Beyonce is on here I’m whooping yours and Lewis’ ass.” Dean finishes. 

Garth laughs and Dean looks out of the window at the scenery. North Carolina isn’t bad. It’s not raining and that’s got to count for something. The temperature is mild. It’s warm but the wind is chasing off the brunt of the heat that comes with the sun bearing down on you. The weather is good despite it being dusk.

“We’re headed to your house?”

“Yeah. Rufus is gonna get a hold of me tonight give me the DL. If he needs to meet with you it’ll probably in the dressing room of some hoe-dung thrift shop way out of the way.”

“Talk about precaution.”

“Talk about big operation.” Garth amends.

Dean nods his head in agreement before scooting down in his seat and listening to the soft R&B wafting out of the car radio.

\- - -

Dean ends up falling asleep. Garth wakes him by smacking him on the shoulder and he jumps awake so hard he sprains his neck. 

“Lewis.” Dean growls.

“Yeah, sorry. You look beat. You might enjoy sleeping more on a bed and we‘re here.”

Dean climbs out of the car slowly, joints popping as he stretches his arms above his head. He eyes the house. It’s homey, two stories and probably two or three rooms. Dean wonders how Rufus managed to get this one. The location is good. It’s far enough away from the club that Crowley won’t think to check it out more then once. The last undercover assignment Dean was placed on lasted a day and he stayed in a hotel that boasted three different species of cockroach.

“Aw, yeah.” Dean sighs. He cracks his knuckles before closing the front door to the car and opening the back.

“I got your bags. Go in and check the place out.” Garth says. 

Dean calls excitedly and runs across the front lawn. He jumps up the steps two at a time and throws open the screen door. Not surprisingly, the door is unlocked. Garth was probably instructed to leave it unlocked. Dean pushes the front door open and takes a look at the entrance hall. It’s small and there are two rooms branching off of it, presumably the living room and kitchen. The steps to the second floor are also in the entrance hall. The lodgings are nice and Dean can see why Garth isn’t complaining.

“This is fricken awesome!” Dean yells. Garth is moving between the car and the porch, dropping off bags. He responds with a quick, “yeah. You’re in the guest room.”

Curiosity gets the best of him and Dean runs up the stairs to the second floor. The first bedroom he encounters is comfortably broken in. This is Garth’s room, then. He backs out and moves on to the second room. When he nudges open the door with his foot he thinks that it’s a guest room. It’s empty for the most part with simple furnishings. There’s a desk, a cupboard and a king bed with a shelf over it. There’s an old television stuck on a side table in the corner.

Dean moves over to the bed so that he can test it. 

It’s firm under his body for a moment before molding to the shape of his ass.

Memory foam. Nice.

Dean leans back into the mattress, closing his eyes and thinking that, despite how horrible it sounds, working this case isn’t half as bad as he expected it would be.

Garth stays busy running Dean‘s things between rooms. Dean settles and helps him despite protests from Garth about him being capable.

After everything is in and out of the way, Garth decides to take a shower. He tells Dean he takes long showers and he’s got enough courtesy to drop a workload off to Dean beforehand so that he has something to do while waiting his turn. Dean nods in thanks and grabs the papers. These papers have to be filed in his memory before the two days are up and he gets his orders to go in.

Dean’s new name is Jacob Pawlak and he currently lives in Idaho. His ancestry is paternally polish. His grandparents are across the country in Maine and his mother is deceased. His father works for a law firm in New York and he has one younger sister who studies abroad in Malaysia. He’s twenty five years old and he’s recently single. He has a dog named meatball and, dean blanches when he sees it, his favorite artist is Beyonce.

“God damn.” Dean laughs, tossing the paper off to the side and moving on to the envelope behind it. Enclosed are his new identification cards. Drivers license, passport, passport card, two credit cards, a company card, a picture of his dog and a family picture. There’s a key to the house incase he has an emergency and needs to get in. There are also two cell phones, one to be kept at the house with a direct connection to the office, the other with preexisting contacts and an emergency number under a codeword only Dean knows.

Two hours after arriving, Dean is memorizing the most important information. His birthday, his history and his current employment and familial status. He looks over his likes and dislikes again before returning to the folders with the victim profiles.

The pills from the airport are still in Dean’s system and his eyes start to close of their own volition as Dean gets half way through the sheets of paper. Instead of fighting the urge to get some shut-eye while he’s got the chance, he scoops the papers together and sets them in a pile on the floor beside his bed. He then lays himself back and waits for the inevitable blanket of sleep to cover him for the third time that day. 

\- - -

The next two days are spent in a comfortable silence that’s occasionally interrupted by Garth’s strange observations of the world.

For instance, Garth doesn’t know how to cook and watches Dean closely as he prepares snacks. One time, as Dean is cutting peppers, he says “I’m not one to advocate for the smaller things, but I hope that pepper aint missin’ his family. I want to go Vegetarian, you know, I heard it was better for the body, but I can’t see myself killin’ a family of peppers.”

Dean pointedly holds his tongue against the many ways he could respond.

The days roll on and when Dean is confident he knows who he is, he has Garth quiz him. They go around the house in character, familiarizing themselves with the new identities they’ve adopted. By the end of the second day Dean is missing a dog he’s never had and a mom he never got to meet.

Dean awakens on the third day to a job. Garth comes into his room at six in the morning and says, “We’re out on the town today. I got a gift for you.” and he walks the rest of the way into the room to hand Dean a paper with the location of the club. The informal name of the club is Andeley’s, a play on the Spanish word ’Andale’, and people refer to it as such. 

“Thanks.” He responds. He adds the paper to his pile that he’ll look over before he leaves in a few hours. For now, he needs to find a Jake outfit in the closet of provided clothes. “You know, if I’d known Rufus was gonna provide these I wouldn’t have packed so heavily.”

Garth pokes his head back in the room. “We don’t think they’ll be that close to you, but clothing labels are telling if they’re not Versace or the like. Feel free to wear your jeans.”

Dean shakes his head. “Naw, it’s cool.”

Dean goes through the closet and finds that Jake’s style doesn‘t mimic his style at all. There’s one plaid shirt, and it’s paired with a cardigan. The majority of the selection are tight fitting dress shirts that Dean suspects the top button should be opened on. Jake’s a businessman first who takes solace in feeling of tight fabric and the weight of a tie on his chest. Of course. Lazy days are the only days he wears plaid and jeans. There are three pairs of boot cut jeans, but only one pair of boots which Dean gladly yanks from the bottom of the closet. 

“Southern style,” he whispers as he grabs a pair of jeans and a light blue dress shirt to go with them. While he’s dressing himself he runs over the things he has to do. First, he needs to return all of his papers to Garth so that the man can hide them in case the house is searched. Second, he needs to keep himself busy doing things Jake would do until the evening. Third, he needs to go to the club and get in.

He starts with his first order of business. He takes all of his work papers and his personal belongings to the basement so that Garth can go down and remove them. It’s not that the FBI is paranoid, but in the event that Crowley has caught wind of a possible leak in his operation, he’ll be searching the FBI’s finest first and any suspicious folks at the club second. Precautions are taken to create a doubt in the mind of the perpetrator when they think they’re on to something. 

After Dean’s cleared his room of personal belongings (including his suitcases, purchased in Washington), he accompanies Garth into town. The two keep themselves busy shopping and spending the companies money buying things they think Lewis and Jake would buy. They stop in to a small café for lunch and talk about things like Lewis’ job and girlfriend that lives on the other side of town. They discuss Jake’s love for graphics and his decision to attend law school in the fall because “dad suggested it”.

Late in the evening, Dean sees Sam and Lisa browsing a Kiosk a few feet away from where he and Garth are window shopping. They’re probably here on their honeymoon or something equally embarrassing. He smiles to himself and keeps on with Garth beside him as they make their way to more shopping centers in the heart of North Carolina. 

By the time the sun sets, Dean is more then ready to sit down. He’s ready for the day to be over because why the hell does Jake enjoy shopping so much. They return to drop Jake’s things off in Lewis’ car. Garth looks over the hood at Dean while he pushes the bags into the trunk. Dean gets the message and says, “There’s a place I wanted to visit while I was here. I’m gonna be gone a few hours.”

“Sure, man. Where at? You want me to drop you off?”

Dean shakes his head. “Naw. Emma told me to check it out solo.”

Lewis shakes his shoulders but doesn’t object. “Yeah. Gimme a call when you want to be picked up.”

“Sure thing.” Dean says. He slams the trunk shut before saying, “Keep a heads up. It might be soon.”

“Yeah, yeah. I was gonna go see my girl anyway.”

Dean tries not to laugh at words he never thought he’d hear Garth say. He waves the other man off before stepping away from the car and mentally preparing himself for the mission he’s about to embark on.

\- - -

Dean wishes Rufus wouldn’t have sent him alone. It’s more inconspicuous, sure, but Dean doesn’t do strip clubs and isn’t sure how the fuck he’s even supposed to get in. The entrance to the club is through an alley and behind a building. That should have been cause enough for the occupants to know that something shady has been going on, but Dean supposes the people visiting aren’t doing so for moral fulfillment. 

Like Dean, Jake isn’t a strip club kind of man which would explain the lack of instruction on Rufus’ part. He’s supposed to get a little lost before finding the large neon sign hanging from a post a little to the right of the back of the alley. Dean follows the sign until he sees another sign and before he knows it, he’s following a series of signs that lead him to a large metal door with the word “Andeley’s” engraved onto it.

“Right,” He says to himself. “This is the place.”

He looks around for a bodyguard of some sort. When he doesn’t see one, he reaches for the semi-rusted handle of the door and tugs hard. It breaks away from the wall and opens towards him. 

Inside of the building is dark. There’s a hallway that turns left at the end and jesus christ, Dean’s not even in the club yet. He follows the hallway, generously lit by fluorescent lights. Nerves begin to pool in Dean’s stomach and he supposes it’s Jake’s fault. Submersed in character, Dean rubs the pocket that has his phone and wallet in it. His hands start to sweat and it only gets worse as he turns the corner and spots the large bouncer standing in front of yet another large, metal door.

Dean approaches the bouncer slowly. He gets a few yards in front of the door when the bouncer raises his hand. Dean stops instantly.

“Window to the left. Leave your phone, and two forms of ID. Entrance fee is twenty dollars. You payin‘ cash, leave the cash too. If not, leave a card.”

Dean holds up a finger and reaches into his pocket. He pulls out his cell phone and his wallet. To the left of him is a small, clear window and behind it is the silhouette of a girl either sucking her fingers or biting her nails. Dean can’t tell. He approaches the window with his items in hand and grabs the handle before pushing it open and placing his items inside. He then closes it and steps back to his original position. 

“Hands above your head. Don’t move.”

Dean does as he’s told. The bouncer approaches him and starts to frisk him. He runs his arms roughly up and down Dean’s legs, reaching in between to cup his dick. Dean yells out in disapproval, but the bouncer fixes him with a look he’d rather not see again. He bites his tongue as he’s grabbed around his waist and under his arms. When he checks out, the bouncer steps back and a green light that Dean had failed to notice before, comes on overhead the door.

“The initials check out. Inside and to the left, Chuck has the waiver for you to sign. Any funny business and you’ll spend weeks pullin’ my foot out of your ass. Go.”

Dean releases a large sigh and moves quickly around the bouncer. He pushes his way through the door and takes an immediate left. Not that there’s anywhere else to go. The entrance is a platform and the club is visible below. “Chuck” is the only barrier between him and the stairs to get there. 

“Chuck?” Dean asks as he approaches the man.

“This is he. I’m gonna need you to read the form and fill it out. Sign on the dotted line. I’d advise you to read it thoroughly. People don’t do that enough and somehow still find the audacity to blame it on the company when something goes down.”

Chuck hands Dean a sheet of paper. “Let me know when and if you’re ready to sign.”

Dean looks down at the paper. It’s a waiver with a list of rules and consequences attached. He slowly reads over the contents, trying to commit them to memory for later use.

The paper reads:

“Thank you for choosing Andeley’s. While we certainly appreciate your business, we would like to take this opportunity to present you with our policies. The following rules must be adhered to for the duration of your stay. In the event of violation, perpetrators will face retribution as is seen fit by the director of the institution.

Visitors may not touch or otherwise come into contact with the entertainers unless direct permission has been granted by the entertainer or the program director. In the event that an entertainer files a complaint against you, action will be taken accordingly. Depending on the level of charge, physical retaliation may occur.

Private dances and services are offered for an additional fee. If the fee has not been paid, the entertainers are forbidden from performing private screenings or participating in otherwise crude and excessive activities.

Visitors are subject to background checks. Those with felonious charges are banned from entering the institution without express permission from the institute director. Andeley’s has permission to use the information obtained to gain insight into the personal endeavors of its clients in order to protect and ensure the safety of the entertainers. In the event of suspicious activity, Andeley’s has full permission to use the information gained about you against you. 

While entertainers are encouraged to adopt many identities for the joy of our customers, they are strictly forbidden from discussing personal and private information. We request that our visitors not hackle or otherwise attempt to persuade our entertainers into disclosing information outside of what has been presented for the duration of the evening. 

In the event that you understand and are in agreement with the above conditions, sign and date on the line below and enjoy your stay.

\- Crowley. 

Dean reads over the paper twice and takes a long look at the “physical retaliation” mulling over the danger of signing the piece of paper. He bites his lip to look more the part of a nervous first timer and Chuck smiles at him before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a pen.

“The rules seem bad at first, but they’re pretty easy to follow. Don’t touch the girls and boys performing unless they say you can. If you do and they don’t like it-“ Chuck sucks in a hard breath and runs his hand across the expanse of his neck. “You’re out. Private dances and… “extras” cost more money. When you go down the stairs, there’s a booth to the right where you can schedule some one-on-one time with the dancers. I’d try and get there early. Spots fill up pretty fast. I think the most important rule is ‘don’t ask questions’. Seriously, people always try to get the dancers to give up where they live, what they do when they aren’t working, if they’re single and available. Crowley doesn’t like it and it makes the entertainers nervous. Just don’t do it. Go with the persona they give you and ask questions about whoever they’re pretending to be for you.”

Dean nods in agreement and takes the pen. He slowly signs ‘Jacob Pawlak” on the dotted line and hands both back to Chuck. “Listen, don’t let the waiver freak you out. Enjoy yourself. You paid twenty dollars to get in here, but feel free to throw more money onstage or, if you’re lucky, in the bra and underwear of the dancers that come up to you. That’s if they do, they usually stick to the stage. If you want more, go look for the booth and book some more time with them. They appreciate it.”

“Yeah, thanks.”

There’s a body behind Dean that’s just entered. As Dean steps around Chuck to the get to the stairs, he can hear Chuck saying “Naomi, long time no see. You know the drill.”

Dean descends the stairs slowly. It’s his job to catalogue information about the cost, size, services provided, fan base, and most importantly, entertainers and workers of the joint. He can’t do that if he’s running down the stairs to grab a front row seat. Dean adjusts the collar on his shirt before he reaches the bottom of the stairs. He passes several people who smile at him and send him regards. He doesn’t know any of them, but the crowd seems to be friendly.

By the time Dean hits the floor he realizes that standing at the entrance and looking down from the platform doesn’t do justice to the size of the club. The main area is uncovered and can be clearly seen from where Chuck is standing, but underneath the platform there’s an entrance to a larger hall that leads to a bigger stage. There are several doors off of the main area that, Dean assumes, lead to areas for private dances. To the right of him there are three booths with the entrances covered by a maroon curtain. Those must be for scheduling appointments. The club is well decorated and there’s a small bar besides the bathrooms on the other side of the room.

“Jesus.” Dean says without thinking. He doesn’t even know where to start.

“It’s a big place.”

Dean jumps as a voice surfaces directly behind him. He turns around to see that the woman talking is, in fact, the woman that had entered after him. She extends her hand and without thinking, Dean takes it. “I’m Naomi. I’m good friends with the owner here.”

“Nice to meet you.” Dean responds. “This place is… bigger on the inside.” 

Naomi agrees and nudges Dean out of the way of the stairs as more people come in. “Yes it is. There’s a lower level, believe it or not. That’s where the rooms are for high paying customers. These rooms here,” she says, gesturing across the way, “are for private dances. There are two bars, one here at the smaller stage and one in the hall with the larger stage. Drinks are fairly expensive, so a lot of people drink before they come. Is this your first time?”

“Y-yeah.” Dean says.

“How’d you hear about us? This club is pretty low key unless you know somebody.”

“My sister has come here a few times. Stumbled upon it lookin’ for a quiet place for her and the sweetie.”

Naomi smiles at him. “Really? Well we’ve got half an hour until the actual performances start. This place will fill up quick, so if you think you’re gonna want some extra time with the dancers I’d go to the booths now.”

Dean waves it off. “I‘ll pass this time.” 

Naomi doesn’t argue. She holds on to Dean’s shoulder and helps him maneuver through the growing crowd. They walk into the adjoining room. It’s as large as Dean expects and heavily decorated with reds and blacks. Curtains are over the stage and there are large feathers in crystal holders in the middle of every small table. The chairs look comfortable and Dean is completely gob smacked by the elegance of the place.

“I can get us a seat up front if you want to sit with me. The men and women here friendly. They know better then to do anything unbecoming.”

Dean follows Naomi’s lead and only asks questions about the décor.

“This weeks theme is burlesque. Are you familiar with it?”

“Well enough.”

“Themes change based on how Crowley and the dancers are feeling.” She continues. “This room is the only one that gets decorated, but they put a lot of effort into convincing the visitors that they’ve stepped out of America and into somewhere more exotic.”

Dean can understand it. This room is grand. He wouldn’t think twice about the dancers being employed against their will. Had he come here outside of work, he’d have thought the entire operation were completely legal. He whistles and continues to observe the decorations as he follows Naomi to a seat directly in front of the stage. “I can’t believe this. All for a twenty.”

Naomi laughs and gestures to a seat beside her. “You can sit here. Twenty bucks is just the general charge. This place can get up to 500 customers a night, and at least 100 of them will pay for added services. The private dances are 100-200 dollars and tips are expected. The rooms downstairs are 300-500 for an hour to two hours. I think they make much more then they put out.” She pauses to take a breath before adding, “I didn't catch your name.”

“Jake,” He answers mindlessly. 

He wants to be more involved in answering but his eyes are focused on the posters hanging around the walls. They’re high quality images and, were he not so familiar with the victim profiles from his work, he wouldn't think twice about the people on them.

As it goes, he does know what those children look like and he’s not at all surprised to see that the people in the pictures are, undoubtedly, the children that went missing twenty years ago. 

Dean curses internally, biting his lip as he tunes back in to Naomi frequency.

Naomi reaches over the table, picking up a small piece of paper. “Looks like Lulu is first on the agenda.”

“Lulu?”

“Lulu.” Naomi confirms. “I don’t know what her real name is. I don’t think anybody does, but her generalized stage name is Maggie when she’s not playing the part of an escort.”

Dean almost chokes on oxygen.

“Maggie.”

Naomi looks over at him with an eyebrow raised. “Are you surprised they don’t use their real names, or…?”

“No, no. I had… uh, I…” Dean closes his mouth and looks away. “I was just talking to an old friend Maggie. It‘s the coincidence.”

Naomi nods in understanding and turns back to the stage. The empty seat beside Dean fills up fairly quickly, and Naomi reaches around Dean to greet the person with a friendly smile on her face. Dean turns, out of habit, and sizes up the new character. When he sees that he’s a small thing, he quickly gives his name, shakes hands and faces the front to wait for a performance that might actually make him lose his head.


End file.
